


Once Upon a Waffle

by yoolee



Category: Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: Fluff, Modern AU, chapters of varying lengths and povs, kind of more like a loose collection of short drabbles, more to come though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-01-04 11:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12167604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoolee/pseuds/yoolee
Summary: IN WHICH, in a Modern AU, Sasuke successfully convinces Shingen (and by extension, Saizo and Yukimura) to take a cross-country roadtrip to the Mouse World amusement park, because he has never been and has always wanted to, and they stop at a 24 hour diner for waffles, whereupon they acquire a short order cook/waitress, you. Shenanigans ensue.





	1. In which Sasuke makes a proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those things where 'leave well enough alone' absolutely applies. I wrote a 5000 word bullet point headcanon about this, and should have left it at that. It doesn't have quite the same humor when it's written out (pacing, I suspect), but, self-restraint has never been my strength...
> 
> Chapters will generally be super short, drabble-y insights into moments along the way ^^;;;;

"Alright men, let's wrap this up. Unless anyone has other business?"

A small, fervent hand shot into the air, and Takeda Shingen, CEO of Takeda Corp, deigned to be surprised. W _asn't today a school day?_

A quick glance to the boy’s silver-haired guardian told him nothing. Saizo only stared silently at the hand-raiser (who was now waving the arm back and forth with keen impatience), expression as blandly disinterested as if the appearance and hand-waving of the ten-year-old boy for whom he was legally and morally responsible for at the end of a multibillion dollar company board meeting was as unremarkable as the sun rising.

Considering what Shingen knew of Saizo’ daily life, perhaps it was.

Shingen glanced back to the boy in question, amused—most of his meeting participants did not wait so politely to be called on to speak. "Yes, Sasuke?"

"It's spring break." He exploded, as if he had been holding his breath, waiting to make this announcement for hours. (He probably had. Shingen wondered when he got in the room, and how…and then he again remembered the boy's teacher and decided it best not to think on further.) He raised an eyebrow, indicating to the child that he should continue. He did, "It's spring break and there are only _three days left._ "

Shingen turned a slightly disapproving glance to Saizo, whose expression did not change, but whose shoulders gave the notable indication of a sigh. So, back to Sasuke, "And?"

"And I want to go to Mouse World."

Silence.

Shingen grinned.

"Bold boy." He murmured approvingly. Their greatest rival's flagship property. Takeda Corp focused more on technology and medicine; their foray into media and properties had met overwhelming defeat at the hands of media giant Oda, Inc, and they'd only barely come out of the subsequent attempts at an investment takeover with any value intact. The company had survived on sheer, scrappy merit, but it had been a dark stretch.

Needless to say, it was still a sore point for several of Shingen's board members.

If Sasuke heard the CEO’s assessment, he made no indication, slapping his hands down on the conference room table in perfect imitation of an enthused businessman making a passionate pitch, the volley of words as purely earnest as only a child with a dream's could be. "I've never _been_ to Mouse World. And Sensei _promised_ we would go next time you sent him, and you've kept him busy _here_ and I've done _all_ my schoolwork, I'm _bored_ and I want to go to Mouse World, and you should make Sensei take me."

Silence.

(Again).

Saizo's eyes had narrowed, perceptibly, sheen of brown darkening to a ruddy crimson as the light fell differently.

Shingen sought out another pair of eyes, sky-blue and sparkling like the heavens themselves had been opened before them.

Well, he could have counted on _that_ reaction.

He turned back to Sasuke, who took the silence to mean he had to keep making his case, and was blurting, "Sensei's in charge of your charity arm, right? Grantin' Wishes Foundation, for kids?” This seemed to surprise people around the room, and Shingen let them wonder, “Well I'm a kid, and that's my wish." He slumped back into the too-big boardroom chair, eyes wide with a blink to make them watery, as he sucked in his breath and mumbled in a mixture of sulk and shameless, quavering manipulation (oh, how his Sensei must approve), "I _am_ an orphan and stuff."

All of the eyes—crimson, gold, and bright, sparkling blue—turned to Shingen.

He could hear Saizo’s sigh from the side.

Shingen grinned, white gleam of teeth ferocious in his intent as he crossed his arms.

"Well, then. Let's go."


	2. In which the roadtrippers run out of snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as a chapter probably not I'm so sorry

Kirigakure Saizo loved his best friend (who also happened to be, most of the time, his employer.)

He did.

Yukimura Genjirou Sanada was a _goddamn national treasure_ and nothing would convince him otherwise.

But right now…at this _particular_ and _exact_ moment, on a quiet stretch of midnight road…Saizo was calmly considering fratricide.

" _Forty-three bottles of sake on the wall! Forty-three bottles of sake!_ " Sasuke joined in from the backseat, Shingen from the passenger seat, " _Take one down—_ " Saizo's hands tightened on the steering wheel, eyes closing briefly. “ _—pass it around—“_

"Hey Sensei?" His eyes opened. Ah, right, the road. And the kid.  Probably ought to keep his eyes open and on one of those things, for the sake of the other. Not that the prospect of going over a guardrail, at the moment, lacked in appeal. "We're outta snacks!"

" _FORTY-TWO BOTTLES OF SAKE ON THE WALL!"_


	3. In which we meet our heroine, and she runs out of sweet potatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV switch to hang out in the head of our MC! This would be the puppy chapter.

“I don’t like it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at your childhood friend—and assistant manager—as he frowned at the empty boxes, as though glaring at them long enough would incite them to spontaneously refill.

“Do you like _anything_ , Inuchiyo?” You teased, removing another box as you too sought the furthest corners of the storeroom in hopes of miraculously coming across a box of sticky yams. Oddly, a smear of pink appeared on his cheeks, violet eyes darting away from your face to glare even more fiercely at the floor. He harrumphed. A grin pulled at your lips even as your search continued to prove fruitless. Who could say why that prickled him this time? Regardless, time to change the subject. “What about your internship? With Oda? How is it going?”

In your less charitable moments—and you felt very guilty for them, honest, you did—you found yourself a little astonished he’d landed it. One of the most singularly prestigious companies in the country, with nothing but a ferocious, barreling momentum of success, and your clumsy, brutish, dearly beloved best friend had casually announced his position with them as though it hadn’t been a big deal at all. You knew your father would have been so proud of him. You certainly were, though it made you feel as though perhaps you didn't know him as well as you ought to, that there was some part of him beyond your reach, unknown.

(No, that was silly - Maeda Toshiie was too darn honest to have hidden depths, surely.)

“You’re changing the subject.” He insisted, unsubtly, and you bit the inside of your cheek at confirmation of your thoughts.

“I was, yes. But I do want to know you’re doing well.” You lost the fight to hide your grin, impish, and pinched his cheek, only to have him swat your hand away, his other arm swinging around your shoulders to pull you down in a loose headlock, ruffling your hair and eliciting a yelp of dismay as you wriggled free. He always let you escape, but you huffed nonetheless, attempting to fix the damage done to your tidy bun. You couldn’t help but notice he didn’t offer anything regarding how well he was, or wasn’t, doing, and again you felt a pang of guilt. Juggling school, his internship, and traveling back out to help you on the weekend nights would have been a lot on anyone, but he insisted on keeping his job, claiming he needed the cash (broke student that he was) and, internship with Oda, Inc. notwithstanding, you weren’t entirely confident in his ability to get hired elsewhere, so didn’t protest.

(That he was more than generously compensated for his work with Oda, Inc, volatile as the work atmosphere was, was something you knew nothing about).

Your bun felt as tidy as you could get it, without a mirror, and you tucked it through the back of your cap with a sideways glance. “You should really run a brush through your hair sometime, Inuchiyo.”

He grinned at last, holding up a gleaming frying spatula to serve as a mirror. “Speak for yourself.”

You winced at the revealed reflection and quickly launched into a second attempt at returning your hairstyle into something tidy. “ _Back_ to the issue at hand,” You began again, and Inuchiyo jumped immediately in, tone regretful but firm.

“You’re just going to have to take it off the menu for tonight.”

“My dad’s Absolute Vic-tater-y Bowl? Absolutely not.” You were firm on this, hands going to your hips. Inuchiyo looked like he was going to protest, but you turned, insistent, “That’s the heart of the Waffle Cottage. That’s why people come.” You glanced down at your apron, the faded but cheerful logo as familiar as your own name. You could remember your dad drawing it on a napkin over a decade ago, asking your opinion. You’d loved it then; you loved it even more now. Your fingers followed the comforting curve of its shape, and you heard Inuchiyo sigh in imminent defeat. You smiled, glancing up at him, knowing you’d win eventually, and sure enough, his dark gaze had been following the path of your fingers, and his brows had come together in a tired, troubled smile that made him look every year older than you that he was. “Please, Inuchiyo?”

“It’s half-past midnight.” The smile faded to a frown. You said nothing in response, because that was a statement of fact, even if you really didn’t see eye-to-eye on the significance of it. Inuchiyo continued, “I don’t like to leave you alone, the drunks will be—”

“Inuchiyo,” You interrupted, trying to be gentle, because you knew his heart was in a good place, even if you’d had the _same_ argument ever since you took over the night shift, “I’ll be okay. I’ve been okay until now, haven’t I?” He looked unconvinced, and guiltily, you did remember the incident with the decaf coffee and the Yakuza, but really, no harm had come to anyone, and he _had_ agreed he needed to go home and get some sleep as you suggested, “I can handle the drunks. A good cup of strong coffee, some warm food, and they’re right as rain. That’s why we’re open, after all.” And they weren’t the only ones. You had a few regulars who were entirely sober but had schedules that meant they had few options for a hot meal. It warmed your heart to think of them, and you glanced back towards the door to the restaurant proper, though you’d not heard the bell indicating anyone new had entered.

Anyone, anytime. No matter what.

That had been what your dad promised, when he opened the small diner. As it always did, your throat hurt thinking of him, the ache of his loss no less for the time that had passed. But here, anywhere in the diner, really, it felt as though he was just always a half-step out of view, his warmth and presence imbued into every appliance and creaky, swiveling bar-height stool. Your throat felt tight, and to hide the sudden warmth in your eyes from your childhood friend, you turned back to the boxes, shoving one free with a little too much force. It would have toppled atop of you, but Inuchiyo was there, as he always was, and with a single hand, he shoved it back into place with a  _look_ you could read clear as day -  _be more careful, dummy._

“I’d feel better if Yahiko were with you.”

“Yahiko does not need to be up this late, he’s a kid. Honestly.” Some of your exasperation slipped through, and Inuchiyo frowned. “It’s been a quiet night, Inuchiyo. Nothing bad is going to happen. _Unless_ we run out of sweet potatoes. You won’t be gone more than thirty minutes, I’m sure.”

He looked grim, “An hour, more like.” He glanced through his eyelashes, and sighed at the firm expression on your face.

“One hour, Inuchiyo.” You heard the bell ring, and immediately straightened up your jaunty uniform hat, slipping it on and holding the door open for your assistant manager to follow. “Get us restocked so I can make the sweet potato hashbrowns. Please?" 

He looked unconvinced, but you smiled, feeling the familiar warmth of flickering florescent lights as you entered into the diner proper. Their glow, harsh against the darkness of night outside, felt like home. The bell over the door rang, and you to see a family come in, three men and a boy, eagerly demanding they sit at the counter. Toshiie, next to you, scowled ferociously at them. You smiled, and nudged your almost-brother towards the door.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly MC >>;;  
> She'll probably be fine.  
> Probably.


	4. In which Saizo considers available opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never had the (WONDERFUL, AMAZING, BLESSED) experience of visiting the restaurant which this work not-so-subtly parodies, here are some good references:  
> https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/dd/43/e5/interior-of-elkton-waffle.jpg  
> http://www.wafflehouse.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/BREAKFAST-for-WEB-1024.png  
> https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2016/03/15/wafflehouse_wide-4ecbc0df9c1c3c69663292af8f09ae8ef349b9d7.jpg?s=1400
> 
> They aren't very big, but they are wonderful.
> 
> ALSO - yes, I am wholly aware that waffles and hashbrowns and the like aren't even on the radar of Japanese cuisine. This whole thing started as kind of a joke, rather than trying to be accurate, and so now I am in a position of retroactively researching (which I am slow at, but trying). That said, through the power of google, I did find what I believe to be a comparable sort of place! Retro menu, low prices, with one off-the-wall offering unique to them. https://www.timeout.com/tokyo/restaurants/shinanoji

The little lady was certainly enjoying herself.

The waitress-slash-hostess-slash-short-order-cook-slash-manager looked right at home on the other side of the counter, chatting brightly and freely over the grill she managed with warm familiarity while indulging Sasuke’s every question. He seemed fascinated by the setup, watching her cook and asking about each step, ingredient, and skill with insatiable curiosity. Since the usual target of the child’s need to know everything under the sun was Saizo himself, he found his meal far more pleasant—which was to say, uninterrupted—than usual.

Yukimura was practically vibrating with glee, cheeks so stuff full of waffle that he reminded Saizo of a small scavenging mammal, fattening up before the long, snowy winter. Not that he wouldn’t burn off every bite with enthusiasm later. Saizo watched him shovel another forkful into an already full mouth and offered, mildly, “Don’t choke, dear.” Yukimura just beamed around another stuffed-cheek mouthful, garbled response a vague approximation of _I wobn’t, ibt’s jusbt so good!_

It had been that, Saizo found himself admitting.

Even Shingen, who often ate little more than bites here and there had devoured the entirety of the diner’s…oddly-named specialty.

Saizo hadn’t missed the pleased glow of their little chef at the gleaming shine of their emptied bowls, nor the momentary concern and mental math she had clearly been doing when she thought Yukimura was going to order another, and subsequent relief when he had instead opted for a more traditionally Japanese breakfast to follow it up with.

The menu wasn't particularly extensive - a single laminated sheet, front and back, that doubled as a placemat, stuffed to the brim with cheerful text and pictures. All food that could be made quickly, simply, and served fresh and hot. Her prep space, open for all to see, and awash in yellowed, florescent lighting, was nearly the same size as that which was available to customers - which was to say, small. Two booths, bolted to the tired, tiled floor next to the windows, and eight tall, swiveling stools made up the balance of the interior, empty but for them at the ungodly hour in the middle of the night when they had found it. A short hallway led to restrooms and, presumably, storage, and there was a jukebox crammed in the last available corner, currently crooning some modern pop ballad that seemed out of place in the throwback diner. Not that it gave the impression of  _trying_ to be retro. Saizo rather got the idea that it just hadn't changed since it had been opened - and the wear and tear of the chipped floors and scuffed seats, for all that they were lovingly scrubbed, supported that sense.

His 'sense' was rarely wrong, in any case. 

“Sensei, can I?”

An interruption of his thoughts, but he paused them to turn his attention to Sasuke, and the eagerly waiting chef. He filtered through subconscious absorption of words passed a moment before - she’d offered to let him try and pour the batter into Mouse ears, in honor of their intended destination. Saizo inclined his head, and Sasuke was off of his swiveling stool in a flash, scampering around to the other side of the counter, where the little lady dutifully outfitted him in oven mitts and an apron, offering a spatula with the solemnity of a grand liege granting her valued vassal a sword. Saizo found his lips quirking faintly upward as Sasuke, wide-eyed and silent, accepted with equal gravity.

Unsurprisingly, in short order Shingen and Yukimura were outfitted as well, paper Waffle Cottage hats balanced precariously on their heads, while their instructor clucked her tongue over the former’s long hair, offering up  ponytail holders and pins to hold it back.

There was something to that, Saizo knew.

For the moment, he was blissfully left in peace, forkful of breakfast twirling absently in his fingers, as she managed the rambunctious trio with the patience of a preschool teacher.

No questions, no exhaustive demands to his time

No _singing_.

There was _definitely_ something to that.

To the untrained eye, the faint impression of a smile just barely touching the man’s lips may have looked like a response to his middle of the night breakfast, finished at last. Had any of the three he entered with seen it, they would have known it immediately for something else entirely, but they were busy at the grill, lost to a world of short stacks and toast.

He carefully set his fork down, and a lazy hand lolled over the divider to capture the perky cook’s attention. “Hey, little lady,” It was Yukimura who blinked, curiously, aware without understanding that something had entered his old friend’s tone. He didn’t frown, exactly, but there was a faraway wariness as he watched. Saizo smiled, slow and slight, tapping the side of the bowl that had once held an Absolute Vic-tater-y Bowl, “I’ll have another one of these.”


	5. In which four persons are woefully and indignantly abandoned at a rest stop at 3 AM

When Yukimura launched into the twenty-third round of _sake on the wall_ , it finally occurred to you to wonder how you’d gotten here.

‘Here’ was the backseat of what was most certainly the nicest car you’d ever been in, on a lonely, silent stretch of expressway, at least an hour or so away from your family diner.

Who…no one was minding, you realized. Oh dear. Well. Inuchiyo would be back soon, he’d handle it. Belatedly, it occurred to you to call him and let him know you had left, and why. Assuming that, at some point, you would understand yourself _why_.

You could just picture trying to explain it – that, after a dazzling discussion on Absolute Vic-tater-y Bowls  you’d gotten into a car with three handsome strangers and a little boy on what was billed as exciting and utterly necessary quest for more hashbrowns.

Yeah, that was probably about as far as you’d get before he’d be hollering. _Sorry, Inuchiyo._

Suddenly faintly uneasy, you surreptiously stole a glance at the other passengers. They looked _familiar_ , somehow. Panic squeezed your heart – had you seen them on Japan’s Most Wanted, perhaps? You’d read somewhere once that serial killers were often charming, and handsome, and all three of them certainly fit the bill.

You knew with sudden and absolute certainty that this was how you died. A little before 3 AM, on a lonely stretch of highway, in search of diner quality meal ingredients.

Your eyes flicked to the handle of the door. You could probably jump out—

“Little late for us to be worrying about that, isn’t it?”

The low, smooth voice drifted underneath the raucous singing from the other side of the backseat (twenty bottles, now), and you jumped, which caused the sleepy boy who had fallen asleep against your shoulder to mumble in protest, but he was soon asleep once more. You stared in surprise at the copper eyes in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, they were watching you, though they returned to the road once his focus had been acknowledged.

“Can you read minds or something?” Your voice sounded a little shakier than you meant it, and a jumpy smile yanked onto your lips.

You got the impression he smiled, but couldn’t see, exactly.

The car rolled to a stop, and you blinked owlishly, shoulders tense.

Saizo flicked the engine off. “Service area.” He offered mildly. Sasuke was suddenly awake, and clambering out the door behind Yukimura, as Shingen stretched and rolled his own long legs out before slamming the door shut behind him.

You blinked again. Saizo leaned back in his seat.

“Phones to report serial killers would be that way.”

This time, as you shoved off the strap of your seatbelt to scramble out with cheeks on fire, you were _certain_ he was smiling.


End file.
